


A seal on the heart

by LaMalefix



Category: The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Married Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 13:41:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17788454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaMalefix/pseuds/LaMalefix
Summary: And he feels naked, oh God, to be honest he actually is naked, but he feels even more naked, a nakedness, a crudity: he is vulnerable, and there’s nothing better than this.Happiness is this, a snap of kisses, the tinkling of entertwined rings, and the light caresses that glide over their skin. It’s in the silent and eloquent glances, the smiles drowned in the edge of a cup of black and hot coffee, or melt in a kiss more moist and deep, slippery.Or, Magnus has yet to metabolize he is actually married, or he's just too happy about this whole thing.This is a very silly wedding story about vulnerability and its power, about being omnipotent, almighty while vulnerable, without walls around your heart. Because, you know, you can't be wholeheartedly happy, so madly happy without accepting your vulnerability. [I'm not so good with summaries, right?]





	A seal on the heart

**Author's Note:**

> Daaang,  
> I'm so weak for wedding fictions! And this is a very self-indulgent one.  
> So I hope you like it!

> #### Place me like a seal over your heart  
>  like a seal on your arm;  
>  for love is as strong as death,  
>  its passion unyielding as the grave.  
>  It burns like blazing fire,  
>  like a mighty flame.  
>  Many waters can not quench love;  
>  rivers can not sweep it away.
> 
> Solomon’s Song of Songs 8:6 – Holy Bible, New International Version

 

 

In the dim morning light, his hand sparkles. More precisely, it is his finger, the left ring finger the one that sparkles. This is what forces him to open one eye and then the other, the light that refracts on his finger, on that metal band, clashed on his eyelid with a decisive irreverence and woke him up.

The smile that curls his lips is not long in coming, but there’s something else, something more that clouds his eyes.

One of the first conversations they had in that bed, after a night very similar to the one they left behind, concerned fear, what scared him. Magnus never wanted to give a real name to what scares him most, he's colourful, he's cheerful, and he doesn’t like being vulnerable, and he can’t be, he can’t afford it.

When he was vulnerable, he allowed his father to come in his life; when he was vulnerable, he was wounded by Camille; when he was vulnerable, his magic overwhelmed him and brought destruction.

He never liked being vulnerable, keeping down barriers, being seen for what he is. And maybe that's why he's always so colourful, so sparkling, so irreverent in his way of dressing, so explosive with his hair, with makeup and polish.

To be seen naked to the feelings that most wants to deny, vulnerable. In his true form, like his eyes.

Yet, yet, great power comes from vulnerability. Keeping down barriers means unleash every emotion even those you want to keep away from your heart, because you have to keep everything away. You can’t select the things you want to feel, everything is muted, numb.

He has built a wall around his heart, after all those times that his heart has been broken, and so everything came muffled, numb.

And, years ago, he couldn’t feel it, that whirlwind that he now has in his heart. Maybe he never really felt it. It’s a sudden happiness that almost frightens, which burns down the throat and makes his heart beat with such force and vehemence that he feels, _he feels_ just a little helpless and a little omnipotent. They are self-excluding concepts, yet, and yet here they are.

He never gave a name to what he felt, he just went around with his little baggage of emotions divided into macrocategories, because it’s with macrocategories that you do less harm, and now _now_ , has this thing that shines on his finger, which makes his hand sparkle and that makes him vulnerable and invulnerable at the same time.

There is always that fear, the loss, but perhaps now giving it a name and admitting its existence is what helps him to be better. To love more, to love more strongly, to throw his soul into that love, to live fully every second, every instant, wholeheartedly. Feeling every emotion, witnessing every single change. Accepting that losing can happen, accepting his fears, is a step towards lowering his defences.

And so, Alec arrived and threw down the wall with this real bone cruncher, his awkward and a little nervous smiles, his clumsy dance steps, fingers intertwined nervously in the most hidden corners of the Institute, stolen kisses in the less visible corners of the streets of New York, words whispered in the darkness of their bedroom, the fulfilling silence of a beautiful night of sleep.

And now there is that ring that gives him an impossible power, an incredible light, which in his vulnerability makes it omnipotent, stronger than anything else, than anyone else. To love and to be fully loved, this is what he has always wanted and has always denied with those high and insurmountable walls around his heart. This is what he has now. Alec, their rings, and those marks on their skins.

Magnus looks at his left hand with a funny interest, rubbing his finger on the metal band and a light smile curls up more on his lips.

His hand sparkles. Alright, both his hands have always sparkled, his fingers, with the multitude of rings with which he fitted them. But now it's really different. He's always been fabulous, but now he feels something more, something else.

Alec tightens his grip on Magnus’ hips a bit more, while he sleeps. Usually Alec is the little spoon, because he often moves in his sleep with those nightmares that cloud his rest, and so it’s usually Magnus the one that surrounds him, like a shell, to protect him from the fog of nightmares that tarnish his head, as if sometimes he takes his demons home.

But tonight, it was natural for Alec to take that position. His face sunk in the back of Magnus head, their legs intertwined, one arm that wraps his waist and the other under his neck now, for a while, hugged his shoulders. Alec's breath against his skin is hot, it seems almost the puff of an active volcano, and it is certainly the most fitting comparison that passes in Magnus’ head: his passion is like a volcano.

Magnus grins and caresses with the fingertips of his glittering hand, Alec's arm, going down searching for his hand. The light little tinkle that the two metal bands jangle when they meet, when they collide, makes his heart jump in his chest.

A sense of belonging, a sense of fulfilment, of wholeness burn in the back of his throat. Nobody has ever wanted him so much, no one has ever wanted him that much to do that step, to kneel and propose, to swear loyalty until the last breath. And maybe he still doesn’t believe it, and it's been weeks, _weeks_ since that day and he still has to metabolize. He thought he had turned it round, but instead he goes back to look at his finger.

And he looks at his hand and then turns it and there is the thick and pitch black tattoo of that marriage rune on his palm. The only thing he could think of, to respect Alec’s traditions, was to tattoo that rune. Binding the two of them, even to the slightly gruff and cruel eyes of the oldest Clave members.

Alec moves his other arm, the one that was under Magnus’ neck to squeeze his shoulders, his hand falls on his chest, at the height of the other tattoo. A rune on the hand and one on the heart.

“If you keep looking at it,” Alec begins to say, his voice hoarse and kneaded by sleep, but it thunders in Magnus’ chest  with unbelievable satisfaction. “You'll consume it,” he adds, rubbing his nose and lips into the soft skin behind his ear. A light peck, a very sweet kiss that makes a very tiny shiver climb down his back.

Magnus ponders the idea of not telling him anything, but he can’t restrain himself. “Metals don’t work like that, Alexander”.

“You say so. But you don’t know how hot your glance is...” he replies, very serious. “My low parts know it so very well”.

Magnus bursts out laughing. “You have a thing for my eyes, and my glance...”.

“And you clearly have something for your hands... or for that ring.” Alec mutters, pretending to be annoyed.

Magnus sighs. He likes to look at his hands, his hands are perhaps the thing he likes more about his body. And let’s admit that he is breathtaking in all his bold outstanding beauty. But his hands are something more. Vehicle of destruction and wonder, perfectly accustomed to the continuous flow of magic, that would succeed in creating a whole new world. And maybe, it’s also for this reason that he takes care of them with skill, covering them with rings. Perhaps it is better to say he _covered_ them with rings. Because now he has only the one on his left ring finger, to decorate his hands and it’s more than enough.

“I'm a little jealous,” Alec groans, snorting his hot breath on Magnus’ neck before letting him go completely and lying down on his back, legs and arms outstretched like a starfish. Luckily, their bed is big, if not huge, that time they slept together at the Institute, Alec did the exact same movement and found himself lying on the ground.

Magnus rolls on his side and looks at him, grinning. Alec is all sleepy-eyed, a tiny pout curls in his face, but he seems to be struggling against his lips not to smile. Magnus wants to kiss away that expression between the sullen and the pleased from his face, but he decides on moving just a little and blows a raspberry in the crock of Alec’s neck.

Alec snorts. “Oh you! Unfair!” He laughs and covers his eyes with his left hand. Even its ring shines in the dim morning light.

The band that is on his finger, which is exactly identical to that worn by Alec, the one that makes his hand shine in the light that comes a little shyly from the window, to the naked eye is nothing special. A tiny metal band not even half a centimetre thick. Surely Magnus has older or more modern, more expensive and more showy rings. But he certainly has nothing more precious. For this reason, he can’t stop looking at it, to follow with his thumb the thin and smooth texture of that ring.

Alec's expression is clearly a satisfied grin, now, he smiles and looks at him all languid, and he's all so damn inviting, with his ruffled hair and his eyes just a bit sleepy.

Magnus moves to gain the position he prefers, the head on Alec’s chest to hear the young heart of the love of his life, of his immortal life, beating slowly in his rib cage. The hand on the rune on his chest.

“Are you jealous?” Magnus asks grinning.

“Sure” Alec answers, the expression very serene and vaguely sulky on his face. “Of course, I'm jealous,” he adds. “Since when there is that thing, you don’t even look at me anymore. Admit it, you just wanted me to put it on your finger.” the tone is amused, playful, and his eyes shine, he seems to be still trying to look serious, but with very little success. On his lips a smile trembles, again.

“Well, you caught me! A wedding ring was missing from my collection” answers Magnus, very serious. Yes, he is good at acting. “So Alexander, my dear, you can go now”.

“ _Oh_ terrible, you're terrible!” he replies laughing and blowing a kiss in his hair.

Magnus clings more to him, and perhaps smiles so much that his cheeks hurt, then returns to rest his head on his chest, rubs his cheek against the rune and sighs. “I love you” he says very softly, almost in a whisper.

Alec passes his fingers on his bare shoulders, runs through the dry and defined musculature of his back, counts the vertebrae of his spine. “I love you,” he whispers, too. The voice is velvety and hoarse, still a bit kneaded by sleep.

Maybe he will never metabolize this thing, this incredible happiness that reverberates in his bones and radiates under his skin, running through his veins; maybe he will never be able to really give it a name because he has never been so happy, never like now. And maybe today he is happier than yesterday, this week he is happier than last week. And it will always be like this, for an indefinite, indefinable, infinite time. As long as the two of them will love each other everything will be in place.

An impossible vulnerability is strength, the strength to love and to let himself be loved.

“I'm happy.” he says then, very softly and comes out like a whisper from his lips, incredulous and taken aback, the breath that is shortened at the back of his throat. Happiness is a tiny thing, yet so powerful. It makes an exorbitant noise, while it beats hard in his heart, yet, yet it’s such a natural emotion, so genuine.

And he feels naked, oh God, to be honest he actually is naked, but he feels even more naked, a nakedness, a crudity: he is vulnerable, and there’s nothing better than this.

Happiness is this, a snap of kisses, the tinkling of entertwined rings, and the light caresses that glide over their skin. It’s in the silent and eloquent glances, the smiles drowned in the edge of a cup of black and hot coffee, or melt in a kiss more moist and deep, slippery.

And it has never been so nice to be vulnerable.

“Very good,” Alec replies, rubbing his fingers over the short short hair on Magnus’ nape, in a reassuring caress. “It will always be like this,” he adds.

And it sounds like a promise.

Always. _Always._

And Magnus wants it so much, a promise, a forever. And perhaps not to think about it, or more to seal that promise, Magnus rises and reduces the distance between their faces. And he kisses the hem of his lips first, very softly. And for a moment he stops and looks at him. Alexander with his curled lips that look like rose petals, and they taste honey and pomegranate, of love and eternity, of unconditional loyalty and devotion.

Magnus could swear to hear the sound of his own Adam's apple coming down when he swallows, the hot breath that escaped from Alec's lips along with the soft and slightly annoyed moaning of those who still want more. Damn it. Will he ever get used to this? To this whole thing? He hopes not.

And then their hands move, the paths of the fingers are intertwined on their respective skins, follow the black contours of those new runes, and interlace in elegant and perfect swirls, as if that has always been their place.

And again, Magnus’ heart makes that little jump when the wedding rings tinkle again, in the only instant in which their left hands meet and touch at the same point.

He is happy. Of an impossible happiness, is almost on the edge of chaos, far beyond any expectation, beyond any possible dream or desire. It’s the happiness of those who no longer have defences, and no longer have to have them, not around the heart. Because his heart is well protected, from that soft and slightly languid gaze that has kidnapped it, from the very first moment.

Alec is the only one. Alec is the love of his life. Of all his immortal life.

And that one kiss becomes ten, and then a hundred and then more and more. Or maybe he’s exaggerating. But the hunger, the insatiability of that passion seems to burn him in the throat, along with joy, the contentment. Being in the right place is priceless. Being chosen, loving and being loved is all that he has always wanted.

They break apart only to look at each other, to say very soft incognizable words, sweet nothings, and they are so close that their words are lost on their respective mouths.

Then it is Alec who moves forward, in a desperate movement that makes his whole body arch, and tugs Magnus in his arms. They are not morning routine kisses, a bit sleepy, they are those ravenous kisses that tear their breath away and leave them dazed at the end, their eyes half closed and a satisfaction that breaks their bones.

Magnus shoves another little kiss on his lips, while Alec rubs his eyes with the back of his hand.

“So?” Alec asks, an impatient gurgling that rises from his stomach. “Breakfast?”.

“Well, we either have breakfast or I eat something else,” Magnus replies smiling, but without really moving from that privileged position, his hand resting just above the rune on Alec's heart and his chin propping up the back of his hand, perhaps, with a decidedly too flirtatious air.

“You're terrible,” Alec snorts, rubbing his thumb in the middle of his forehead. “I know that for that kind of activity, however, I need a little more energy”.

And Magnus laughs and moves. “French Toast!”.

“As always,” Alec nods finally jumping out from their bed.

The promise of a forever that now seems palpable, on the tip of their tongue.

 

 

Maybe it will not be forever, maybe they will not be eternal, but they are working on it. They are working on it. Indeed, it can be said that the heaviest step has been accomplished. They have those rings that symbolize belonging, have those runes, Alec burned on the flesh, and Magnus inked under his skin, and those marks make them one, one on the hand and one on the heart, binds that seal their union. Like in Solomon’s Song of Songs.

And Magnus has learned it by heart, that passage, that passage from which the Nephilim marriage ritual descends, and every time he looks at his hand, at that spark of light that the metal band refracts he feels in the right place. Vulnerable and invulnerable. Almighty, omnipotent.

Because their love is the strongest, and maybe eternity really awaits them.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading so far,  
> I really hope you enjoyed it.  
> See you soon :D


End file.
